Wound

How hurt I am from the wound,

dried decades ago.

How the blood that was here once, 

still wet.

How's that every scar  I see,

reminds me of mine.

How's that every new strike,

Only falls into deepening the old.

There were roads we never took,

ages we never shared.

So many possible lives,

where this wound

might have learned to rest.

But the wound never learns. 

Time does not pass there, 

just around it.

The skin closed.

Only to reopen when shaken. 

and the pain...

arrived each day

as if nothing

had ever healed.